


Laughs Out Loud At Mine

by Hum My Name (My_Kind_of_Crazy)



Series: Witcher Winters [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Baker Jaskier | Dandelion, Baking, Christmas Cookies, Cookies, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Mentioned Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Moping Jaskier, No Angst, Oneshot, POV Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Pre-Relationship, Sad Jaskier | Dandelion, Sulking, Winter, Winter At Kaer Morhen, Yenskier if you squint, maybe? - Freeform, oblivious Witchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27980676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Kind_of_Crazy/pseuds/Hum%20My%20Name
Summary: Prompt: Christmas CookiesJaskier made cookies while at Kaer Morhen and no one is appreciating it.Yennefer finds him while he's sulking.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Witcher Winters [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038222
Comments: 12
Kudos: 112





	Laughs Out Loud At Mine

It starts with the unmistakable scent of almond and sugar stretching through the air like veins pulsing towards Yennefer’s room. She stands slowly, brow wrinkled as she sets aside the book she’s borrowed— “borrowed”— from Kaer Morhen's library. She takes in another gentle breath, sweetness striking the back of her throat with a small sigh. 

It’s— It’s new for Kaer Morhen. She’s spent a few winters here— not many but enough to feel comfortable in her initial assessment that witchers can’t cook for shit. Geralt had gruffly explained— as he explains all things— that certain spices and herbs are too strong for the witchers’ delicate senses to put up with in the kitchen. But, then, he also covers himself in monster innards and wanders about as though that’s no problem, so she’s given up on choosing what to believe from him.

She also, half against her conscious decision, gives up on ignoring the scent of baked goods leading her down the halls.

Curiosity, that’s all it is. Nothing more than a question of who on earth is wasting time making such overly sweetened and messy—

Oh. 

She steps into the kitchen, tugging at her sleeves at the sudden warmth within the room, and spots Jaskier. Flushed and scowling, seated at the table with a tray of seasonal goods before him, he picks at the dried dough under his nails and fails to notice as Yennefer simply watches him. 

“Didn’t take you for the baking type, bard,” she says if only because it feels as though she should say something. Jaskier jumps a bit in his seat, cheeks reddening further as he makes eye contact with her even as his scowl deepens and he turns away.

“Well, some of us have to have hobbies outside of scheming and bitching,” he says but there’s something different in his tone. Yennefer’s traded barbs with Jaskier a thousand times over and she’s learned that he faces bickering with smug smirks and sharp smiles. He wears neither now, staring at some place on the wall as though he may burn a hole through it with his eyes.

Against her better judgment, Yennefer takes a step forward. Jaskier’s jaw tightens; clearly, he’s watching her from the corner of his eye, no matter how hard he tries to ignore her presence. Yennefer frowns and lifts a hand to her hip, leaning over the table to inspect the cookies that Jaskier has made.

There are— There are quite a few of them, even considering the voracious appetite of four witchers. 

“Is there some celebration we’re meant to be having?” She asks, nudging at one of the cookies near the edge. It’s burnt along the edges, as are most of them, and she can tell there’s far too much sugar he failed to mix properly. “Perhaps you plan to host a ball or banquet?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Jaskier says, further proving Yennefer’s theory that something is irritatingly wrong with the bard— he never goes for such easy insults, always choosing the more colorful and metaphorical snipes. “You can leave me alone for one day, you do know that, right? I’m fairly certain a day without insulting me won’t kill you.”

Yennefer narrows her eyes at him and hates that she does— hates that her irritation flickers into concern, that her curiosity becomes less focused on baking and more on the downward turn of Jaskier’s lips.

Fucking hells, the bard hasn’t become  _ important  _ to her. He’s a gnat amongst the rest of them, a buzzing pest with no reason to be surrounded by such powerful people. He’s pointless and useless and comedic relief, at best, and yet—

And, yet—

Jaskier’s fully pink from the tip of his nose to the tip of his ears as Yennefer sits across from him, never once looking away from him. He twitches— blinking and grinding his teeth and tapping on the table and face scrunching into childish expressions— and Yennefer simply holds her own appearance in a cool stillness, the certain sky next to his storm.

She sees the second he gives in, sighing heavily as he twists bodily to face her. 

“What?” He asks, exasperated. “What could you possibly want for—”

His attention properly on her now, Yennefer glances at the table and begins picking at one of his cookies. They’re still warm, melting to her fingers as she tears one into two. Jaskier cuts off as she moves, his breaths heavy and confused. Silly human bard, always so easy to read. 

“I’ve not had sweets like this since I was at court,” she says easily, lifting half of the cookie towards her face and breathing in the sugar-sweet scent of it. It’s such a mundane thing, baking and cooking and laying out goodies for whoever walks by. Such a human thing. Such a  _ Jaskier  _ thing.

But, well, witchers wouldn’t understand that the joy is in the sharing, would they? That Jaskier wouldn’t make these just for himself or just to pack away for later? It’s the same as any gift, if a bit less obvious. An ordinary type of miracle, an alchemy of its own-- forging ingredients into something warm and saccharine, pieces of the earth changing under knowledgeable hands. Folding dough and cracking eggs and mixing it all together with the trust that the work is worthwhile if someone enjoys it. 

No, witchers wouldn’t know this. They wouldn’t have learned this. They have their own languages, their own gifts and presents. Yennefer’s closer to their type of speech— sentimentality is quicker to sicken her than it is to capture any fondness— but Jaskier…

Jaskier’s not like any of them, is he? Yennefer nearly laughs at herself for how surprised her mind is by this revelation. She knows he’s not a witcher or mage or warrior or king. Still, he’s part of their mixed-up family, anyway, and so she’s taken to defining him as such.

She must remind himself that, despite all this, he’s still something… something else. Something maddeningly undefinable. Extraordinary in his own rights, the most unlikely character in their shared plot.

Gods, the sugar in the air is infecting her, she’s sure. She could gag on her own cloying thoughts.

The cookie, though? Whatever. No one else in this damned keep is going to know how to fix Jaskier’s moping. So, into her mouth it goes.

It’s. Well, of course, it’s good. It’s a cookie— burnt around the edges, freshly baked, crumbling in her hand as she bites it, messing up her lipstick.

But it also— it makes Jaskier smile. 

Just a bit, just a tiny twitch in the left corner of his mouth. Anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t notice it.

_ Fuck,  _ she really is losing her mind today, isn’t she?

Still, she finishes the cookie, considering it with a sigh. Something prickles on the edge of her memories. She hadn’t been lying when she said it’d been so long since she’d had them, she just hadn’t realized she’d missed the luxury of sugary treats so much. Her mind makes a strange sound as she swallows—  _ happy  _ and buzzing like one of Jaskier’s stupid songs.

“I’m doing this in the trust that you know better than to try to enchant someone with these,” she says. It’s mostly a joke but the bubble of fucking happiness in her gut at something as small as a  _ cookie  _ has her wondering if, maybe, there’s more to Jaskier than she initially thought. 

“Um, no enchantments,” Jaskier says, still staring at her as though eating his cookies is something awe-inspiring. He really can be such a child. “Unless you count, like, trying to put people into a happy winter spirit, I suppose.”

The heat from Jaskier’s baking is dying down but Yennefer still feels warm as she laughs at Jaskier’s remarks, brushing the crumbs for her hands and shaking her head.

“There’s an entire army after Geralt’s child surprise, a kingdom hell-bent on taking over The Continent, and you’re worried about making people happy during the winter?" She teases. “Any other foolish ramblings you wish to share?”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow. He’s just about back to his typical self. “How much time do you have?”

In this place? Hard to say. Yennefer should go back to her room, continue reading that book and plan the best ways to train Ciri in chaos. She should check up with the Witchers, see what their plan is for spring. She should do a hundred things other than sit here and laugh with someone like Jaskier.

But there are ingredients left out behind him, piles of messes scattered across the floor. They sit before Yennefer as if they're any other material for a spell. 

“We’re going to need more cookies,” she says, at last. “Have you ever tried making them with jam?”

  
  



End file.
